


the intersection

by commovente



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dreams, Gen, M/M, Relationship Study, kurapika gives himself advice: the fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente/pseuds/commovente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>Not for the first time, Kurapika dreams of Leorio.<br/></p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	the intersection

**Author's Note:**

> in all honesty i'm not even sure what this is but. i've been having a Kurapika Crisis for quite some time now and i just needed to get this out tbh
> 
> also: my first leopika and it's not even leopika like really. does kurapika dreaming about leorio count? what is actual leorio doing in this? we may never know,

Not for the first time, Kurapika dreams of Leorio.

In this dream, Kurapika finds him at the base of a hill, sprawled out along the grassy slope, all easy smiles on velvet grass, half-lidded eyes and smothered fabric, and. It’s that more than anything, really, which gives the dream away. That damn suit jacket, navy but obnoxious all the same, crinkled in places while still clinging to the angular bend of Leorio’s shoulders when really it sits on top of Kurapika’s bedspread in whichever hotel room he’s staying at for the night.

Leorio’s suit jacket, a bright constant against the monochrome muddle of Kurapika’s now-everyday. Leorio’s suit jacket, which Kurapika had originally meant to return but never did, left to its own devices tucked under Kurapika’s arm as he moves from place to place, hotel room to alley to cracked bathroom tile.

It serves as a placeholder, of sorts, playing proxy for a quiet bravery Kurapika can no longer muster to confess in one fleeting moment of honesty that — he cares. He cares about Leorio, far too much to ever leave him behind.

Gon and Killua, too, it’s just. True to form, it’s Leorio who absolutely must make his presence known, couldn’t settle for anything less if he tried; Leorio, whose brash kindness still coaxes out half-hearted, quirked lips that might be a smile if Kurapika would just let himself find Leorio in anything more than sometimes stumbling, permanently well-meaning phone calls and accusatory recurring dreams.

This time, too, it’s Leorio’s voice that jolts him into the present.

“Ah, Kurapika,” he beams —Kurapika can’t even pretend not to hear the smile in his voice — as he continues, “you’re finally here.”

 _And where is here, exactly_ , Kurapika thinks but doesn’t say. He looks at Leorio, really looks at him; he searches for an exit, for little flaws and telling imperfections to keep giving the dream away. Kurapika looks and looks but finds nothing except Leorio, arched brows questioning but happy, shoulders slack and mouth lightly parted; his tiny, audible exhales only proving how much Kurapika remembers, how much he _cares_.

Kurapika looks away. He doesn’t tell dream-Leorio any of this.

“Leorio,” Kurapika replies instead.

An intersection stretches out behind the hill; criss-crossed granite running parallel paths to the sky. The traffic is light but steady, streams of vehicles flowing endlessly away from this hill, this nowhere in particular.

— a dream. This is a dream.

Leorio follows Kurapika’s gaze. He can feel it, poking into the small of his back, near tangible. His acute awareness of Leorio is mere habit than caution, but. It’s there. Kurapika purses his lips, can’t decide if the _realness_ of the dream disturbs or consoles him, settling instead on vague irritation that he’s questioning this at all.

“The weather’s nice, so it’s pretty busy today,” Leorio says. Kurapika hums. 

“A good day for going,” he agrees.

“A good day for staying,” counters Leorio.

“Well, I suppose,” Kurapika allows, “but I don’t know if I’m much the type for staying, either way.”

He’s too tired to argue today.

He’s too tired for much of anything, these days. He wonders what else his body’s doing while he sleeps. While he — dreams. Shaking his head slightly, Kurapika finds himself looking at Leorio again.

Leorio grins. “How modest — you’ve always been a mover.”

Kurapika snorts. It’s a brief thing — faint, too — but Kurapika can feel it pulling in his chest, puffing up from his lungs into a teensy, upwards tilt of the mouth. He can’t remember the last time he laughed, properly laughed, but this is something all the same.

Kurapika smiles, small and fond, and. Leorio smiles back, like he knows.

“A _mover_ , is it? Well, you’re not wrong, I suppose, but. That way of phrasing it is, it’s a little —,” Leorio’s grin widens, and Kurapika stops. “That’s better,” Leorio cuts in. Kurapika blinks at him, lets his gaze fall into something like a glare, mild annoyance countered in equal parts by amusement and feigned disinterest.

“What,” he huffs. Leorio is undeterred. He sits up, pushes himself onto his elbows, one arm reaching up to jab at Kurapika’s face. “That,” he says, and Kurapika’s confused. “That, is my face,” he snaps, to which Leorio exclaims, “exactly!”

Yes, definitely confused. Also, decidedly offended.

It must show, because Leorio hastily rushes on. “You’ve been lookin’ real tired ever since you got here, Pika. It can’t be healthy, so — wait, when’s the last time you actually slept?”

Kurapika doesn’t point out that he’s sleeping right now. “I… can’t really remember,” he says, only to find that it’s true, sort of. Kurapika sleeps, but he doesn’t really feel _rested_.

Also, he can’t remember since when, if ever, Leorio’s addressed him by nickname. Inexplicably, it’s this lapse in memory that disappoints him most of all.

Leorio clicks his tongue — _I knew it_ — and waggles a finger at Kurapika, knowing and concerned. “See, you gotta take care of yourself, and — don’t make me come after you, Kurapika.”

_What if I want you to?_

He sighs. “I’m tired, Leorio.”

Leorio doesn’t skip a beat. “Then rest,” patting the grass next to him. Kurapika raises an eyebrow, but complies. Leorio looks carefully away.

Scratching at his neck, Leorio says, “I shouldn’t have to tell you that, you know,” and. Now it’s Kurapika’s turn to look away. “What, do you think I don’t rest unless I have you to tell me to?”

_Because you’d be right, actually._

Hugging his knees, Kurapika frowns, blowing at strands of hair brushing against his eyes. His hair’s getting long again. Or is that just the dream, too? He hears Leorio shift beside him, but keeps his gaze directed forward. A small, dusty car rattles its way in front of them; there’s a small boy in the backseat staring in their direction, but it’s distant, like he’s not really seeing them, not really.

It makes Kurapika think of Pairo, and Pairo makes him think his family, of the eyes, which _then_ make him think about the Troupe, and when had it all gotten so complicated, he just wants to go _home_ —

— but Kurapika doesn’t have one to go home to, anymore.

Leorio claps a hand onto his shoulder, then leaves it there, and. Kurapika lets a ragged exhale cough out of him, watching the car make its way towards the horizon, ever forward; battered, but forward. Leorio waits, and finally, finally, Kurapika turns back to look at him.

The focus in Leorio’s eyes is — a little intense, but surprisingly it’s — not surprising in the slightest, and. The familiarity of it all, of Leorio’s dark, dark eyes, honest and open and not the least murky for the darkness of their colour, manages to keep Kurapika looking long enough that he forgets why he would look away in the first place.

“I’m right here,” Leorio breathes, “and so are you.”

A breeze stirs, drowning out Leorio’s words a little. Kurapika hears him anyway. The wind is soft and easy, but the chill in the air makes him think that maybe it’s going to rain, soon.

“Right here. Right here, Kurapika,” Leorio says again.

“— Okay,” Kurapika agrees.

Neither of them look away for a long time, but. When Kurapika does, he feels — lighter. He slouches where he sits, lets his arms fall from around his knees, fingers feathering careful touches to the grass, somehow still wet with dew.

Leorio’s still looking at him.

Kurapika closes his eyes. “What do you want, Leorio?”

And he can’t see it, but he can hear it — Leorio’s shrug, shifting the grass and tousling his suit even more.

That damn suit jacket.

“I dunno.” Leorio has always been terrible at lying. “What do you want, Kurapika?”

“I want —.” And Kurapika stops, thinking. Leorio lets him; patient, considering.

Finally, Kurapika answers. “I don’t know,” he says, “I don’t know, but.”

Leorio looks at him, and Kurapika shrugs, a little lost, a little helpless.

“…but. Leorio, can’t we just stay here for now? Just — here. Can you do that, please?” and Kurapika sounds quiet, so quiet, even to his own ears, but it’s an answer and it’s honest and Leorio keeps looking at him steady and earnest, like he couldn’t have asked for more.

“Of course,” he answers smoothly, gently. “Of course we can. We can stay here as long as you like, Kurapika.”

Kurapika doesn’t say _thank you_ , but it’s what he means when he nods, slowly. Leorio hums in assent, and when Kurapika turns to look back over the intersection again he feels Leorio stretch an arm behind Kurapika, weight leaning against his hand on the grass. It’s simple and wordless and Kurapika thinks, _I can do this, too_ as his head drops against Leorio’s shoulder, legs tucking in under him, allowing Leorio into his space, allowing himself to find his space in Leorio’s own.

They continue to watch the cars like that, even as rain starts to fall fresh and cool from the sky. Distantly, Kurapika considers that the clouds finally found their way here, after all, but he can’t bring himself to move. Leorio shifts a little bit closer to Kurapika, but other than that, he says nothing. He keeps his eyes open, and just for a little while, in this dream, Kurapika feels more rested than he’s felt in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> “A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it.” - Charles Dickens, _A Tale of Two Cities_
> 
> thanks for reading yo, lemme know what you thought ? you can also come yell at me on tumblr @ aobaejousai


End file.
